


Limits

by silvernautilus



Series: Bystanders in Hell - daemon au [1]
Category: His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman, MASH (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Daemons, Found Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Queer Themes, Same-Sex Daemons, typical war-related mental strain
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-14
Updated: 2016-08-14
Packaged: 2018-08-08 16:05:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7764283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silvernautilus/pseuds/silvernautilus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>War, Daemons, and love. Or how the MASH crew and their souls cope. Sort of a character study.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Limits

**Author's Note:**

> See notes at the bottom for a list of each character's daemon. (Keep reading if you don't want to spoil the surprise).
> 
> This one goes out to all the other niche fanfic readers. Keep reading your rare pairs in unknown fandoms with weird aus. I'm right there with you.
> 
> Inadvertently inspired by Talitha Cumi by Raven (singlecrow). If you like this fic, you should go check theirs too.

            No one talked about the incident, but Private Frazier was on everyone’s mind ever since he had come in by chopper six days ago. Lying on a stretcher next to bloodied soldiers who were crying out in pain, he was not the first to catch your eye, BJ thought. In fact, aside from his glaring impairment, no doctor would diagnose him with anything other than minor physical wounds, unresponsive pupils, and a weak pulse. The facts of the matter were much more serious, however. Weren’t they always in this goddamn war?

            Private Frazier had been wrenched from his daemon during a freak land mine accident. He stared up at the empty sky as he lay in triage, his eyes wide and glassy. Some of the nurses were reluctant to touch him, and tried to hide their revulsion behind quick efficient movements. They had dealt with gorier incidents, but none so deformed and heartbreaking. Always sensitive to the horrors of war and innocent as a child, Radar retched onto the dusty ground when he first saw the Private. Only Hawkeye stared straight down at the patient, unable to tear his eyes away, arms dangling lamely at his side.

            BJ watched Hawkeye, mostly as a way to ground himself, as his mind flipped furiously for an animal form to fill in Private Frazier’s gaping wound. He finally settled on scorpion, trying to imagine her in the Private’s pocket or curled up under his collar beside his dogtags. It didn’t work much; the injury was too great to wish away. BJ felt as woozy as Radar looked.

            “Nurse,” Hawkeye’s voice came out a little higher than usual, but no one really could blame him. He continued valiantly, “Morphine and an excess of potassium serum, please.”  Nurse Kellye’s eyes grew wide, “But Hawkeye! That’ll, uh…” she paused, the realization dawning clearly on her face, “that’ll kill him,” she finished quietly. Hawkeye gave her a small nod, still looking down at the patient. Activity had inadvertently stopped in the OR; all eyes were on Hawkeye. BJ’s daemon, Adeline, gave a low cry, sounding uncannily like a lost child, and covered her wide eyes with her tiny hands. BJ picked her up and held her close and tried to comfort her in an embrace. Hawkeye glanced at him for the same reassurance and BJ met his gaze. It wasn’t strictly legal, but it was the humane thing to do. Radar finally broke the silence.

            “More choppers on the way, folks.” His eyes were watering, perhaps an effect of the retching, but probably not. The official report read: Private Frazier died on the operating table. There was nothing anyone could’ve done.

0   0   0

            Hawkeye’s daemon, Sabrina, had the uncanny tendency to wander off by herself, perhaps surveying the corners of the mess tent or sunning herself atop a jeep hood. Patients would sometimes mistake her for a true cat, and attempt to reach down from a hospital bed to pet her. Those who knew Hawkeye were almost accustomed to this uncomfortable habit, though privately BJ might admit that it was downright spooky to see Sabrina curled up on his friends bunk – alone- after Hawkeye left to use the latrine in the middle of the night. Usually they remained within range of sight, as far as anyone could tell. But in hushed tones, Radar confided to BJ that he’d once seen a black cat wandering the minefield at dusk, Hawkeye nowhere to be found.

            Once, after a cranky 16 hours of surgery in blistering heat, BJ had asked him, “Hawk, why do you two _do_ that?” as he flopped down onto his cot. That day, Sabrina had remained in the post-op for most of their time at the operating table; occasionally slinking around Radar and making him jump. But Hawkeye had fallen asleep the moment his head hit the pillow and was snoring too hard to answer. Sabrina, however, perched at the very edge of Hawkeye’s mattress, merely blinked her wide yellow eyes in response.

            BJ’s Adeline was a very well-liked daemon, as far as one could like another’s daemon without seeming too intimate. She was goofy and playful, often showing off for the patients in post-op by playing catch with Radar with a roll of gauze. She’d bow from atop BJ’s shoulder, like a miniature concert pianist. Patients would often ask how she got her form, having never seen a lemur before. BJ would fondly respond, “She got stuck like this one day at the zoo” and Adeline would muss up his hair. Adeline was not always cheery, however. If BJ fell into a depressive mood (which was rare, but becoming more and more common) she’d cling to his chest with her head buried in his neck. During surgery, she’d gradually wear down, at first helping out by perkily handing BJ instruments. By a couple hours in, however, she’d turn dull and sluggish, clinging to his shoulder listlessly. Finally, reflecting the general mood of the OR at fifteen plus hours, Adeline would creep out of sight, nestling under BJ’s scrubs at the nape of his neck like a newborn. It was as if she was trying to block out the outside world.

            BJ knew that between her primate form and his open personality, Adeline was more expressive than most daemons. All his life BJ had been a little self-conscious about the way she so acutely expressed the moods he tried to mask. His first date with Peg had gone awry when Adeline swung from the rafters with excitement, much to Peg’s amusement and BJ’s intense embarrassment. But he had never had much to hide before Korea.

            For onlookers in the OR, Adeline’s behavior was hard to watch. One felt as if they were intruding upon BJ’s internal mindset. The stark contrast between BJ adamant positivity during surgery and Adeline’s shuttered behavior was jarring. Occasionally, BJ would attempt a corny joke to cover the soft sounds of Adeline’s distress. It made Hawkeye wince.  
                Colonel Potter, who’d been through many wars and seen many reactions of daemons and their companions to the constant stress of wartime, would spare a sympathetic glance to BJ when Adeline keened softly; her eyes squeezed shut against the horror of BJ’s prospective double amputee. BJ would pretend not to hear, and everyone else would try to do the same, thinking maybe they were better off not acknowledging how Adeline’s small cries were reflected in their own hearts.

            Sabrina and Hawkeye’s reaction to war was a little more peculiar, Potter had to admit. Still, he’d known couple of men who had allowed each other to touch one another’s daemons (though that could also be chalked up to “none of his business,” thought Potter professionally) and another man whose daemon would talk directly to the man’s commanding officer as her human counterpart grew more and more mute. There were countless other examples; a red fox daemon turning snow white, a German Shepard who began to gnaw at her own paws, and a yellow canary going completely blind. Hawkeye and Sabrina simply coped like the countless others did, Potter thought. If Sabrina wandered farther than most, who was he to judge? It made sense that she’d want to be away from the horrors of the operating room. If he and Gloria could do that, they probably would, thought Colonel Potter. All he could say was, thank God Hawkeye had BJ. Hell, thank God they have each other.

0   0   0

            The mess hall was packed. A bought of intense rain had swung through the MASH compound, and no one wanted to spend time in the freezing downpour. The smell of must and damp clothing lingered over everything, or maybe that was just the peas. The usual group was huddled around a corner table, picking at their food and drinking “coffee” for warmth. Everyone was a bit touchy; the rain had caused a mudslide up in the mountains, preventing much needed supplies from reaching the MASH unit, and of course, the Private Frazier matter still weighed heavily on everyone’s mind.

            Margaret had left the table in a huff twice so far, responding to one of Hawkeye’s lewd comments, only to stride back, having nowhere else to go (claiming the coffee had unfortunately kept her in location). Although Hawkeye was prickly and loud, like a caged animal, Sabrina sat at his feet unperturbed.  Adeline clamored down from her usual perch on BJ’s shoulder to nestle up with Sabrina; she too hated the rain and cold. Hawkeye never indicated that he noticed when the two of them would do something like this, but it always soothed BJ to feel Adeline combing the small burrs from Sabrina’s fur. They intertwined their tails. Sabrina purred under the table while Hawkeye taunted Margaret up above.

            Charles and Klinger were also having a bit of a row at the other side of the mess tent. Charles had tried ferociously to get a table all to himself by badgering and intimidating the non-commissioned officers into submission. No such luck, however, when Klinger came striding into the mess tent, his pink and yellow spotted raincoat dripping wet and Khalil right behind him shaking like a dog. Cries rose up around the pair as they sprayed rain water on their surroundings.

            “Hey! It’s not our fault it’s raining cats and dogs out there!” Klinger interjected above the din, “Sheesh, would it kill you for some compassion?”

            Klinger and Khalil plopped down wetly across from Charles. Charles raised his eyes from his Medical Journal and let out a warning, “Klinger…..”

            “Oh pardon me Major,” Klinger replied lightly, stripping off his goulashes to reveal thoroughly waterlogged wool socks, “I’ll just need this open space here to dry out my feet.” Charles’ swan daemon, Victoria, lifted her graceful head from where she had been resting under her wing and turned to softly hiss at Khalil.  Khalil perked up his small ears at the sound, but soon set his head down in disinterest. Victoria seemed frustrated. Klinger, however, was oblivious to Charles’ dagger-like glare and began to drape his soaked and stinking stockings out on the mess table. Charles cleared his throat menacingly, but to no avail.

             “Klinger!” Louder now, Charles stood up and Victoria spread her wings to an impressive size, “Get your filthy socks and your… your… _animal_ , out of this space this instant!” People in the mess stopped talking. It was one thing to insult another’s socks or general personality (as was common in arguments between Klinger and Charles) but quite another to compare one’s daemon to an animal. Charles could be pardoned somewhat by the fact that Khalil was not a commonly recognized form, and that everyone was in a sour mood that day. However, Klinger wasn’t going to take it. He and Khalil had spent the entire morning delivering mail in the rain, one piece of which had been a Dear John letter, which had almost gotten Klinger a face full of dejected fist.

            “Respectfully, Major,” Klinger bellowed, voice rising in volume and seizing one of the socks from the tabletop, “He is. A CAPYBARA!”

            The sock seemed to float through the air in slow motion, tracing a clear trajectory to a landing atop the Major’s bald forehead. Victoria beat her wings furiously, and Khalil tensed, baring his impressive teeth, and chattering loudly. The sock landed with a satisfyingly wet _thwack_ on Charles’ bald dome. The mess tent was silent for a moment but for the two daemons squaring up to fight.

            Then a raucous hoot of laughter cracked through the silence like a whip; it had been a while since anyone had laughed like that and the noise was bordering on grating. Hawkeye sat at the corner table clutching his sides in laughter. BJ looked back and forth between his two bunkmates nervously. But while Hawkeye pointed and writhed with glee, Charles’ eyes remained on Klinger’s face. BJ imagined steam evaporating from the wet sock (still plastered squarely between his eyes, admittedly quite comically) as Charles’ face turned an alarming shade of red.

            Suddenly the moment was broken. The sock slipped off Charles’ face and onto the floor. Victoria seemed to shrink back into her feathers. Khalil deflated as he realized the full scope of what had just happened and glanced up at Klinger nervously. Klinger, however, was breathing heavily but showing no signs of breaking the Major’s stare. In fact, it was Charles who looked down sheepishly, collected his books, and trudged out into the rain without a further word, Victoria’s graceful neck bent low in the downpour.

            The mess hall erupted in noise as the door clattered shut. “Man, the Major looked _pissed_ ” “Poor Klinger, he’s really in for it now.” Klinger sat down at the bench, feeling suddenly exhausted. Khalil nudged his hand with his broad nose in attempts to comfort him. Suddenly, as if thinking better of it, Klinger stood up again. And just as abruptly as he had entered, he pulled on his slicker and boots and exited.

            Back at the corner table Father Mulcahy whistled in disbelief and said cryptically, “Well that should sort some things out…” and got up to get some more coffee.

            “Hey! When did you get here?! What does _that_ mean?!” demanded Margaret irritably. Hawkeye, who had trying to get his hysteria under control (by wiping his streaming eyes on BJ’s jacket despite BJ’s grunt of protest) was set off again and recommenced his guffawing in full force. Margaret’s milk-snake daemon Pieter hissed, malcontented. BJ was a loss, as he often was in Korea. Maybe the Father was right and something important had just happened, but it was more likely that the pressure cooker of a MASH unit was just a blowing off of steam. He decided to get back to his coffee. As he looked down at his mug, he could see Adeline clinging to the leg of the table and looking down at Sabrina, who was frantically batting at air.

0   0   0

            There were a couple people in the camp who claimed to have ears everywhere; Igor for one, who’d always know if you had been talking smack about his food.  Colonel Potter didn’t claim to, but god knows if even a fly sneezed, he’d know about it. Especially if Margaret was involved. Radar sure knew a lot and always seemed to end up in the thick of it, but he could be a little dense, poor kid, and wouldn’t know good gossip if it bit him. Then of course there was Father Mulcahy, the spiritual pulse of the camp. Father Mulcahy was unassuming, largely unnoticed, and most importantly, observant.  Somehow, people seemed to regard him as a font of advice or a trough into which they could pour their troubles, rather than a regular man. He liked to watch people, see how they interacted with each other. To be honest, this habit partially stemmed from a loneliness and isolation he felt from being the only cleric in the camp. He loved his job, and he did feel like he was really helping people, but sometimes he felt like the others didn’t care to get to know him. So he tended to watch longingly while other people formed relationships.

            Hawkeye and BJ were probably the most obvious pair of friends in the camp, and anyone could tell by the way their daemons interacted that they really cared for one another. Once late at night, his daemon Penelope, as usual pressed close to his chest and with her long ears tickling his chin, looked up at him and asked, “Do you think we’ll ever find someone like that, Francis?” Her striking eyes were pleading and her voice wavered. Francis could feel himself getting choked up and couldn’t answer. Everyone in camp seemed to have someone, excluding him and Penelope. He consoled himself with the thought that at least they had each other.

            But, unable to stop his whirling mind, the Father sunk into morose contemplation. Everyone knew that Radar followed Colonel Potter around like a lost kitten. In fact, his daemon Daisy often took to that form, much to the amusement of Colonel Potter’s Irish Setter daemon Gloria and to the pride of Hawkeye’s Sabrina.  Of course, Father Mulcahy thought with some hope, Margaret hadn’t seemed to have a friend since Frank had left, perhaps the two of them could confide in one another. But there was something about Margaret that made him think that she was content with her current arrangement, for now. She and Pieter had grown much closer since Frank’s absence; it was as if they were talking to each other for the first time. Her personality changed (much for the better, in Francis’ private opinion) and she seemed more confident in leadership roles. It’s probably best to let her develop a better relationship with Pieter before she looks for deep friendship with others, he thought.

            Dr. Winchester was also a bit of a loner, but recently – Penelope looked up at him with a hare’s equivalent of a knowing grin – he had been a little different.  There was no confirmation of Dr. Winchester’s crush, but all of Francis’ years of observing had taught him that even the most bristly can have a soft spot. Penelope and Father Mulcahy certainly knew about Klinger’s affection towards the doctor, anyway. Klinger had come to Francis one day, almost manic, asking for advice. In classic Klinger fashion, he was less concerned about the fact that he was attracted to a man, but rather that the man was Dr. Winchester and – as Klinger adamantly repeated – bald.

            In Dr. Winchester’s case, however, one could certainly count on him to be more discrete. Penelope would watch Victoria closely in the mess tent, her unnerving yellow eyes tracking the swan’s ruffling feathers and obsessive preening (which only seemed to get more vigorous when Khalil entered). Penelope would chuff softly as she watched the two interact; Victoria was very obviously aware of Klinger’s presence but obstinately refused to show it. Somehow, thinking about this oddball pair made Father Mulcahy feel a little better. Romantic love was such a peculiar thing to him, but he did enjoy watching it blossom from afar. It was nice to know that even the most mismatched of pairs really did care for one another, even if he’d prefer they’d show it by some method besides insults. Penelope relaxed in his arms, and the two of them fell asleep.

0   0   0

            “Look, Major” Klinger began aggressively, bursting open the door to the Swamp. “I’m sorry I embarrassed you in front of everyone in the mess,” Klinger said, fists clenched and Khalil snuffling into the Swamp behind him. “But the two of us,” he indicated to Kahlil and continued on forcefully, “have had a couple of hard knocks, and today hasn’t been so great, and we’re getting real tired of you always…” Klinger trailed off finally really seeing Charles’ state. He was curled up under a wool blanket and holding Victoria in his lap. “Jesus, Major, you’re soaked through…” Charles finally looked up at this surprising expression of tenderness. Klinger saw with a start that his eyes were rimmed with red. He looked more young and vulnerable than Klinger had ever seen him. (Except for that bald head, Klinger thought privately. Keep an eye on that – don’t get too sappy). Klinger began again, softer, not aiming for a fight this time, “Charlie, what’s wrong?”

            Charles felt intensely embarrassed by the use of the diminutive. Sure, the boys in the swamp would call him by that name just to chafe at him a little. But it was mostly a nickname reserved for use by his little sister and occasionally, Victoria. Only the two of them called him Charlie with any real sincerity behind it. But here was Klinger, kneeling before him as you would before a child, his face impossibly open to emotion. Charles couldn’t understand how the man could let himself be so bold all of the time. The dresses, the goofy schemes, standing up to Potter and other superior officers… it was as if he put his whole soul into everything he did (except his military duties, but that was a necessity for his greater plan). Charles was finding it hard to look at him. He took a shuddering breath; it was so unlike him to be emotional like this.

            “You know, Victoria wanted to be a Canada goose but Mother wouldn’t allow it.” Charles said slowly, not sure where the urge to divulge that had come from. Klinger, much to Charles’ surprise, laughed.

            “My parents didn’t like Khalil either. Did you know he was stuck as a dromedary for three months? God, was my dad was so pissed.” Khalil snuffled with quiet laughter, “It’s hard enough having a male daemon, but one that’s 6 feet tall? Of course I stuck out like a sore thumb. Well, more than I already do. But Khalil and I came around eventually; we realized we were trying too hard to be something we’re not.” Klinger looked at Charles oddly. Charles felt as if Klinger was waiting for him to “get” one of his weird jokes. He felt examined under the stare and had to look away. He stroked some bits of mud from Victoria’s feathers awkwardly.

            There were many things Klinger would do for a Section 8. Women’s clothing was always fair game, as were elaborate delusions, tricks, pranks, and false sob stories. However, he felt very strongly about his identity. As crazy as it was, he wasn’t gonna let the army kick him out just because he preferred men. Klinger, with all his gusto for life, had come a long way from the angst of his youth. Klinger figured that there’d always be something about him that others would give him shit for. Whether it was being Lebanese, having a male daemon, or being gay.

            He had always had to work a lot harder than others to get a job, and he'd faced a lot of jeers in the neighborhood. He wasn't about to let anyone tell him that the things that defined him – the very things he had grown to see as a fierce source of pride - were what made him unfit for a lowly institution like the army. Everyone knew the crude bar talk about people with same-sex daemons. The most grotesque of rumors depicted people like Klinger as psychopaths and killers; they hurt little kids and were false Americans. No one polite would ever voice their nasty misconceptions aloud, however.

            “Klinger…Is it true what they say about, er, your kind of daemons?” Charles was obviously trying to be tactful, even conversational, but Klinger had been asked this question before and he felt it was extremely rude any way you phrased it. Klinger wasn’t about to let Charles’ veiled prejudices (no matter how dejected that bald head seemed to be at the moment) make him feel like he was lesser. Klinger was incensed that Charles thought that it was a decent question, frankly.

            “What, capybaras? I dunno, never meet one like Khalil before.” Klinger replied sarcastically. His anger from the mess tent was returning in full force. Klinger stood up again, rearing for a fight.

            “Klinger!” A look of understanding dawned on Charles’ face as he realized he had made a grave social blunder, “Max…I was asking if what they say about your, ah, preferences is true….”

            Leave it to Charles Emerson Winchester (the Third) to ask such an awkward question in quite literally the most awkward way. In Klinger’s opinion, it was always better to get these questions out in the open, no confusion or double-speak. “Oh,” Klinger said, sitting on Hawkeye’s bed tentatively, “Well, yeah. That’s true for me at least.” Charles’ face turned the same shade of red as it had earlier that evening, and Victoria had ducked her head into her feathers, trying in vain to pretend she was asleep. Klinger could have laughed if not for the seriousness of the situation. Who knew the Major would be so shy around the subject of Klinger’s romantic choices? Must be his good breeding. In Toledo, you could come out to your friends by simply telling them you preferred guys, and picking up the bar tab that night if they didn’t punch your lights out on spot.  

            “Major, why are you asking me this?” Klinger asked softly as Charles put his blushing face into his hands.

            “I’m sorry if I offended you or Khalil with my crass comments this evening. I will certainly try harder to be more sensitive with my language. Though it is no excuse, my rude attitude can be explained partially by the constant stress under which this utter hellscape places me.” He sounded like he might say more, but didn’t. After a few moments Klinger sighed. 

            “Personally, Major, I think you might have an issue with your rather large ego. And maybe you should figure out why you have a problem with me, cause I’m not gonna wait around for you to put your ass before the cart.” Klinger was still a little angry and figured that if the Major was being honest, he should be too. But Klinger wasn’t a grudging guy; he knew an apology if he saw one. “But this time it’s a little different, right?”

            Klinger could be shockingly perceptive when it came to this stuff. Hell, he had once had an angry phase too, driven by what he saw as an unacceptable crush on the boy who worked at Hermann’s deli counter. Maybe it was wishful thinking to think that Charles was being weird because he couldn’t deal with his feelings for Max, of all people. There was definitely something bothering him, nonetheless, Klinger thought.

            It was Victoria who lifted her head first to look shyly at Khalil. Klinger wasn’t sure Charles would say anything at all until suddenly he spoke.

            “I can’t explain it, Max, but I am awfully fond of you,” he muttered through his hands. For the second time that night, Klinger was struck with the peculiar idea that Charles was much younger than his bald head and pompous manners painted him to be. The war had stolen a lot from all of them, most certainly including their youth, and the frivolous capacity for falling in love. It was rare to see a moment like this in civilian life. People didn’t say the important things back home; you said what you really meant in war-torn Korea. Somehow the war made the end of the world seem wildly close, every breath could be your last and the people who stayed alive long enough to get close became your family. Closer than family, really. Even if the way in which you showed affection was warped by a terrible sense of loss _._

            Klinger knew that BJ and Hawkeye told each they loved one another every night by knocking three times at the edge of their cots. He remembered that Radar’s cheek had been grazed by a stray bit of shrapnel one afternoon, and Margaret (ever stoic and cold) had seized him fiercely and kissed the top of his head. You really needed to fight all this hate with love, in Klinger’s opinion. Everyone you met in the war was depressed and hurting in some way, and it wasn’t just the doctors’ responsibility to mend those sorts of wounds.

            Klinger had been silent for a moment now, deep in contemplation and a little bit emotional, if he was being honest with himself. Charles was looking at Klinger expectantly, his expression fragile.

            In classic Klinger fashion, he flashed Charles a cheeky grin, and quipped, “You know Major; this means you’ll have to be nice to me now.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hawkeye – Sabrina: black cat with yellow eyes  
> BJ – Adeline: ringtail lemur, a little smaller than average  
> Winchester - Victoria: swan  
> Klinger – Khalil: capybara, male  
> Father Mulcahy – Penelope: European hare  
> Margaret – Pieter: milk snake  
> Colonel Potter – Gloria: Irish Setter, red but a little grey around the eyes  
> Radar – Daisy: unsettled. Usually takes the form of small farm animals (rabbit, lamb, duckling)  
> Nurse Kellye – Hiro: fruit bat
> 
> I hope you enjoyed!


End file.
